


it’s fake (it’s real)

by fxrefliess



Category: Avengers (Comics), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Dark Humor, Drama, Hurt Peter Parker, Illusions, Mysterio - Freeform, Peter Parker - Freeform, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Quentin Beck Being a Jerk, Spider-Man - Freeform, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie), Spider-Man: Homecoming Spoilers, Suspense, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Villain Quentin Beck, villian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fxrefliess/pseuds/fxrefliess
Summary: peter knew the illusions were fake; simply just tricks to mess and play with his mind. but this one felt so real. it looked like reality. it hurt just like a knife. and most importantly, it left a killer scar.





	it’s fake (it’s real)

**Author's Note:**

> hi thanks for clicking on this story   
it was made by me as a solo for my rp twitter acc @/spiderwhatnow
> 
> there are major ffh spoilers, as well as eg. minor trigger warnings, perhaps violence, death.
> 
> n lOTS of angst

“poor peter parker.”

his heart raced in an eerie anticipation. the words were spoken with bitterness dripping off of them; sick and twisted. 

“poor. peter. parker.”

this time they seemed to pop for emphasis, echoing around him, drowning him. it made peter’s stomach swirl. he squeezed his eyes shut but it didn’t seem to make this reality go away.

“dumb kid, there’s a difference between bravery and stupidity. shoulda run while you had the chance.”

it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake IT’S REAL it’s fake it’s fake 

“the sad part is, this isn’t some illusion.”

“st-stop—.”

his own voice felt much too small, like it faded out into the world. it seemed like he was just another body in the crowded streets, another kid to be a nuisance .

“stop? awh, parker, did you like my illusions?”

peter’s eyes widened as he shot up. he ran up the stairwell to follow where the voice seemed to be coming from. yet peter felt trapped. trapped, mentally. there were no restraints on the boy; he was in an abandoned building. he just knew if he tried to run earlier, the consequences would be more intense.

he could taste the bitterness that dropped off of quentin beck’s voice in his next sentence, hear the grin that was obviously spread across his lips. his voice was from all directions and peter was lost as where the man was actually hiding.

“let me bring them back for you then, huh, kid.”

and with that, the world went dark.

peter stopped so fast, he tripped over his own feet and slipped forward onto the step in front of himself. the only thing he could hear was his breath. and even with that, he tried to keep it hushed. but the adrenaline that coursed through his veins made that extremely difficult.

“y’know,” beck started from behind the spiderling, “i was actually quite fond of you.”

peter turned around immediately, jumping off the step and aiming for the voice with a web. but nothing even clicked — nothing, there was nothing on his wrists. there wasn’t even a floor below the kid; peter fell. 

a groan escaped his lips, arching his back up off the ground when he finally hit the floor. it was cold, and that was the moment he realized he was not in his suit. a wave of panic rushed through his body, and it seemed like the fifth time in the past minute it happened.

“but you gotta realize, peter,” continued the illusionist. he said the kid’s name with a certain emotion; perhaps it was jealousy, or maybe even hatred .. or both. whatever it was, the voice now echoed from above him. “you’re nothing compared to me. never was, and never will be. im surprised you made it this far.”

“where are you?” peter yelled out. his scream tore through his throat, making it feel raw. pushing his elbows under him, he gave an attempt to stand back up.

but there was a force that harshly shoved him down, cracking right through the ground and into icy cold water below. he felt his limbs sink to the bottom, drowning and unable to swim up from the impact. his eyes squeezed shut to wipe away the messy images of adrian toomes flooding his mind; the memory of getting dropped from so high up. everything was freezing, aching his bones to the core. 

beck’s voice was still crystal clear, ignoring the kid’s question and continuing his speech. “im glad tony stark is gone honestly. he only held me back, put stops in my road. and for you? pfft, he’s the only reason you’re still alive.”

it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake IT’S REAL it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake 

“but the difference is no one would care for your funeral. you’re a no body, trying to help everyone.”

peter sunk to the bottom. his body felt too heavy to move as he twitched into the freezing water. he felt his heart stop before it sped up. yet he inhaled no breaths out of fear. 

but . . . what fear? it’s all fake, right? there’s nothing here. there was no water, no liz, and no magical man named quentin beck. just peter parker and someone who liked to bring out his insecurities. 

“that’s not true,” peter whispered out underneath the water level. “i have people—i h-have friends.”

“who do you think could possibly save you now?” quentin edged. his voice seemed to be filled with almost laugher, taunting peter on. “that emo girl you’re so obviously crushing on?”

“i swear if you touc—“

“she’s not one for crowds, yknow, parker. not fond of people in general. what on earth makes you think she’d be fond of you?”

“i don’t—“

“you don’t know a lot of things, do you?” beck cut him off again.

a rush of power swiped by peter and he tried to blink away the dizzy stars that clouded his vision. by the time he could see again, he was standing in the middle of a hospital hallway. his clothes were not even damp.

“don’t know what’s real, who’s really alive?”

he spun in circles, footsteps echoing down the dimly lit halls. the hairs on the back of his neck shot up, yet before he could turn around, peter was kicked forward. once again, he stumbled to the floor and groaned out in pain. the kid pulled his legs up to his chest before beginning to push them under himself.

“what about who actually loves you? i know a list of names you would give your life for, parker, but the question is would they really do it back?”

peter flipped over and looked at the direction the kick came from. eyes widened when he actually saw the man taunting him. he held at his side, watching for the man’s next move before standing up. the lights of the hospital flickered in an eerie glow, and it made peter worry.

“what’s behind you?” asked the spiderling, ignoring the man’s question. peter bit down on his lip when he saw the strange way beck moved but yet quentin’s grin only expanded.

it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake IT’S REAL it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake

“what?” peter repeated, taking a cautious step forward. his head tilted to the side as if it would help see past the other.

the man crossed his arms, casually running a hand through his hair before stepping to the side with a shrug. “i’ll have you know, she really did put up just as big as a fight that you would have. guess it runs in the family.”

and now peter was running forward again, hearing the slap of his worn-out sneakers hitting the dirty floor. the hallway seemed to only expand with every step he took, putting more instead of less space between him and his aunt. she simply stood in place, as if she could not move even if she tried to.

then there was beck, who dropped his hands on his hips amusingly. “it’s fun to see how far you put yourself out there for others.”

“don’t you dare hurt—”

“i’d like to see you try and stop me, kid,” beck interrupted, clapping his hands together a single time before reaching for may.

all the glass in the hospital suddenly popped to pieces at once, shattering around the three of them. it seemed to shoot up from some apparent impact before crumbling to the floor messily. peter threw his hands over his head, freezing in place. cold air immediately wisped in through every now broken window.

“shit,” he hissed, holding his arm close to his chest. there was a cut running along his forearm, with blood slowly and stickily dripping out. his other hand hovered around the wound for a moment in shock before shaking his head and trying to ignore it.

but when peter finally looked up, both may and quentin were nowhere in sight. and he was now standing in a busy airport.

random passbyers stared at peter, clutching his arm in the middle of the main room. slowly, he felt his breath attempt to relax as he wiggled between people in order to reach a better viewing point. he felt so small lost in the crowd. positioning himself on top of a row of chairs, he stood above eye level and spun in circles.

“attention everyone,” the speakers broke out after a moment of static, “but the flight to queens, new york has been unfortunately delayed due to . . . technical difficulties. however you may aboard the plane now, if you wish. please have your bags and ticket ready.”

twisting in order to find the hanger that led to his home, peter licked the front of his teeth. he huffed when he made eye contact with quentin; in reply, the man tilted his baseball cap forward and gave a mocking wave at the boy.

peter could not help but notice the fingers of beck’s hand were intertwined with his aunt’s as he ushered her onto the plane. and it made his blood boil.

it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake IT’S REAL it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake 

he dropped from the chair immediately, oftering small apologies here and there as he bumped into people on his way to the illusionist. he felt so open, so on display and vulnerable without his suit and the wound on his arm. but he quickly rushed past the lady who stood at the entrance of the plane hanger to get in.

“hey! you can’t go in there!” she urged, most likely following the boy.

he ignored her, stepping on the plane. and it was completely full, the hushed murmurs from all the passengers blending together; the noise seemed to toy with peter’s senses even more, as if it was static on a tv. scanning each and every face, peter slowly moved forward. he was biting down on his bottom lip to hold in the pain of his arm when someone tapped his shoulder. twisting around immediately out of fear, peter turned.

his head dipped to the side at the semi-familiar face. it’s been years, though, it could not actually be who he thought it was. “mom?” the word slipped from his lips quietly.

the woman gave him a weak smile as her hands ran softly up his arms, stopping on his shoulders. “my god, peter? you’ve grown so much.” her eyes looked up behind her son, and she waved someone forward.

large, comforting hands wrapped around peter from the back. his head spun and he managed to breathe out a sigh of relief. “dad?” 

peter didn't wait for an answer before pulling them both close, dropping his head into whatever shoulder was closest to him. the sniffles came around again, yet he didn't bother to try and block the tears. “you guys’ll never believe what . . . “

his own voice seemed to die out when cold air circled around him, the previous blanket of comfort disappearing within seconds after it wrapped around. peter didn’t want to, but curiosity made him look up. small, floating ashes circled throughout the space of the plane. everyone who was just inside, now gone; including is parents.

“ack!” he yelped out, noticing the shoulder he leaned into was just a pile of disintegration. peter stumbled backwards, trying to get away as he tripped over the armrest of the closest chair and dropped to the ground. he hissed out in pain at the wound on his forearm, glancing at the blood in which dripped down.

another rush of memories came through his head. the aching feeling that he could not stop, the sorrow in watching other teammates fizzle away, the guilt aching in his bones. the world knowing they had all lost. time on earth saying five years had passed, when it only felt like a sad uneventful few minutes to the kid.

“oh, c’mon now, parker,” beck’s voice pipped up out of nowhere. “i thought you were smarter than that; did you actually, for a second, think they were really there? why do you even think they even left you in the first place?”

“it was their job, they had no choice,” peter argued, scooting backwards and what seemed like away from the taunting voice. it was then that he realized the plane was flying in the air, “they did it to protect me.”

quentin scoffed. “did they now?”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about. they loved me.”

“how can you be so sure, when they were the ones who left before you could even ride a bike by yourself?”

peter kicked his feet underneath him and slowly stood up. his head swiveled throughout the plane in each direction. “i just know,” he choked out; it was somewhere between a cry and a whisper.

“do you really know, or are you just telling yourself what you want to believe?”

he stayed silent for a moment too long. it gave beck the one-up he was looking for; that moment of sincere hesitation and doubt. the illusionist had struck a nerve within peter, who tried to hide how well it hit home.

“there’s something i don’t think you’ll ever realize, peter . . . while you may be very smart, you’re not that wise; you make mistakes, kid, you mess things up everywhere you go. you’re a damn nuisance.”

peter choked as he tried to swallow down the words stuck in his throat in order to speak. leaning heavily on the chair to the side of his non-injured arm, peter’s head went on a swivel to find the other.

“what do y-you want from me?” asked the spiderling.

“i want you,” beck began, showing himself as he walked forward from the back of the plane, “to realize.”

“realize what?”

“you’re not a hero.”

“wh—“

quentin cut him off simply by raising a hand up. “you’re a kid who thinks they know everything and you try and try and hope and believe. and i’m only trying to help you stop before you get to far. there is no happy ending, peter. never was, never will be.”

beck paused, taking in peter’s frozen expression with a proud smile. 

“so stop, before the rebound kicks you in the ass harder than i will; stop, before you mess something else up and watch another loved one die in your hands.”

peter spun to the side, tilting his head to look out the window at the sky which flew by. it was so blue, so vast and open; so high up. he did not know how to respond, so he continued to stare out the window and sniffle.

“you’re not speaking because you know im right, huh?” quentin asked, his voice suddenly softened. “but you won’t actually stop, will you?”

“i can’t.”

“how guilty do you feel, peter?”

“please—“

“how many nights do you lie awake, struggling from past events that you simply can’t change anymore?”

“quent—“

“how much longer will you go until your eyes are finally opened? i mean, damn, i know your a teenager but holy hell, haven’t you caused enough damage already?”

“it’s not my f—“

“you don’t actually expect me to believe that when i know for a fact you don’t either.”

“it’s the truth,” peter squeaked out.

“if it’s the truth, then why can’t you look at me and say it? why are you shaking, slowing backing away and about to stumble over a seat again?”

peter hadn’t even realized it until it was too late; he dropped to the ground once again. sniffling against his sleeve, he swallowed down the rush of anger that boiled up.

“get away f-from me,” he mumbled. “leave me alone.”

“peter.”

he stayed silent, scooting back again. he unfortunately bumped into the edge of the plane. there was no where else to turn, and beck simply stared down at him.

“peter,” quentin repeated. this time there was a sting in his voice that made the kid look up at him.

“what?”

“you’re already alone.”

it’s fake it’s fake IT’S REAL it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake

peter was biting on his lip to keep his mouth shut, to keep in the feelings that ached to bubble out. he couldn’t give quentin the attention he was exactly looking for. peter knew he wasn’t alone, he knew beck was only doing this to bring him down again.

but yet he was ashamed to say it was working.

he blinked and waiting, watching for the illusionist’s next move because he didn’t know how to react. but when the man reached into the lip of his shirt into his back pocket, peter blinked at the black shiny weapon that peeked out.

“wha—“

“relax, kid,” beck hushed, examining the gun. “if i wanted to shoot you, i would have done it hours ago.”

peter’s eyes were still staring. “so then w-what are you doing?” he asked.

quentin shrugged. a click silently echoed throughout the otherwise quiet plane; peter could only guess it was the weapon’s safety flicking off. 

“you know how to swim, right? i mean, you did almost drown a few times, but you can swim, yeah?”

slowly, peter nodded. wide eyes continued to watch the man’s every move. his arm stung in pain still.

“great,” beck said, grabbing a life vest from the seat behind him. he tossed it to peter with a smile. “you’re gonna need that.”

“what are you gonna do?” asked the kid once more, the vest dropping into his lap.

quentin raised the point of the weapon up; peter could clearly see through the hole right to where the bullet would fly out of. he shivered to himself, sliding to the side to hide behind the chair. 

“say hi to your uncle for me, peter,” beck said with a grin. “and don’t worry, i’ll take very good care of you aunt.”

peter’s wrist shot up to try and web the gun down, but he realized too late he was without his shooters. the front of the weapon titled, aiming for the cockpit of the plane. the bang echoed through the small space, and peter’s hands shot up to cover his ears.

eyes squeezed shut, the whole plane shifted; sending peter jerking to the side. he yelled.

glass popped from the windows again, air bags slinging down. papers flew through the area until they were caught and sucked out into the freedom of outside, thousands of feet in the air.

stumbling to stand up, peter made his way to the front of the plane. he plopped into one of the cockpit’s seats, pressing random buttons along the dashboard. his voice was panicked as he yelled into the walkie-talkies; static was the only response. 

the water below was approaching faster than he thought. peter’s head whipped around, blankly staring at the rest of the plane. to his unfortunate luck, no one else was on — not even quentin. 

whether it was due to the drop in elevation, or how much he was freaking out, peter could not breath. his heart raced.

all he could focus on was the ground. the ground, coming closer with every passing second; waves crashing and overlapping each other in the depths of the ocean. the ground, the ground, the ground.

there was something in the back of his head that called his name on a loop.

it’s fake IT’S REAL it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake it’s fake

he had failed; messed up again. but this time there were no second chances.

“dammit—god dammit,” he yelled, a slur of words dripping out of his mouth.

the plane jerked to the side once more. and another scream escaped his lips.

“uh, ok, alright, peter, you got this—concentrate, think. c’mon,” he whispered to himself, arms wiggling in anticipation.

but he could not focus. his name was still being whispered out at the back of his head on repeat. each second that ticked by only made it more intense.

“peter. peter? peter. peter! peter!”

he jerked up; head slamming into—

. . . into the bottom rim of a bunk bed.

all of his senses flared up in confusion, head on a swivel as he scanned the new surroundings. he was in a bedroom . . . his own bedroom.

“peter?” that annoying voice bugged once more; this time the two syllables were much clearer.

“oh my god, may—“

with his breath upbeat and heart racing, peter did not hesitate to wrap his arms around his aunt. he sniffled into her shoulder; the fabric of her clothing soft and comforting. whether this was another illusion or not, he would be soaking in the moment.

“im sorry,” he choked out against her nightgown. “i missed you and—and im sorry.”

“hey,” she said soothingly, a hand gently rubbing on her nephew’s back. “you’re ok, you’re fine, peter. you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“but he was there and he—he—“

“he’s gone, pete. he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“it was real, may, he—“

“he’s dead . . . it was just another nightmare.”

pausing, he pulled back. he sat up, pulling the thin sheets of his bed up to his chin. peter’s eyes flickered throughout his bedroom, seeing nothing was out of place or different. outside the sky had still not reached dawn, city lights lighting up the streets around their apartment.

on his forearm, the previous cut from the hospital’s glass was completely gone. it was fake. and this is his reality, right with his aunt and the terrifying past.

“peter, i think we should really invest in thera—“

“what time is it?” he asked, trying to hide how much he was shaking, keeping his voice steady.

“it’s almost five am.”

“oh.”

“this is the third time this week you’ve been up at night. it’s thursday morning,” may answered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. she spun back on the wheelie desk chair from his room, her face obviously saddened. “please let me call the therapist back.”

it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real IT’S FAKE it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real 

his head immediately shook. “no—no, im fine; i don’t need help,” peter replied, shrugging off the sheet as he moved to the edge of bottom bunk of his bed. “i gotta get ready for school.”

“you were screaming this time,” she said, her voice hushed down. “im worried.”

“im ok,” he lied, standing up slowly. if anything, being completely honest, all he wanted to do was forget. “i promise it’s no big deal.”

“are you sure? you . . . well, you haven’t told me much since you got back from europe.”

“im positive, may,” he urged. quickly digging through a drawer, he pulled out an outfit to wear to school. “i just need to grow out of it.”

after the whole ‘peter parker is a criminal’ news blew over, he’s been watched closely. but many of his close friends and family, such as the remaining avengers helped out to try and clear his case. so he was allowed to stay in class, going to school and getting just as many weird looks from everyone.

but it was better than a jail cell.

may stood up as well, following her nephew through the room with her eyes. “im choosing to trust you on this, pete.”

“as you should,” he immediately replied. “im fine.”

he was not going to tell her what was really going through his head, would never admit what happened in the nightmare. and most importantly, he’d never say it was about her either.

he hated keeping may up and worrying through the night. he wanted to help her, and it seemed all he was doing was the opposite. 

“if you’re so sure, i’ll be making breakfast; since you actually got time this morning, i want you to eat something, alright?” may said, standing in the doorway of his room.

“you got it,” peter answered, a little too cheerfully to be real.

with one last simple nod, may offered a smile before leaving, heading down the hall toprepare whatever was on the menu for breakfast. peter let out a sigh of relief that he was no longer pressed for answers, flopping back down on his bed.

he rubbed his eyes as well, yawning before reaching for his phone. opening up the calendar, he marked another night that was flooded by the one and only quentin beck.

pulling his legs underneath him, he slowly opened up imessages. scrolling back up to the top, he tapped on the outdated contact and the conversation.

now days, it was all one sided; all the messages coming from peter. he could not change that because it wasn’t like the other line could actually reply. but yet the kid still typed out a message.

‘hey mr stark,  
he keeps coming back to me. im scared. no not scared. im terrified. i don’t know what’s real and sometimes i wonder if its worth of all this. i am hurting inside. may is worried about me and im keeping her up. i don’t want to do that. both ned and mj keep asking me what’s wrong and i don’t know how to tell them the truth. i can’t do it. i miss you. you’d know what to do. you’d help. im so sorry. but i don’t think i could ever stand up to be the man you were. im panicking.’

his thumb hovered over the send button. peter decided to hit it; his eyebrows furrowed when there was an immediate reply.

‘we are sorry. the number you are trying to contact has been disconnected and no longer exists. if this is an error, please contact your service provider for help to fix the problem. no further message shall be sent or received.’

he stared at the screen for a little too long in shock, stuck in a daze. what snapped him out of it was his aunt calling his name; breakfast must have been ready.

tossing his phone to the side on top of the math homework he never got around to finishing, peter wiped away at his eyes before quickly getting changed. he sighed, nose scrunching up.

it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real IT’S FAKE it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real its real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real it’s real

what a great way to start off the day.

**Author's Note:**

> uwu
> 
> comments n kudos r appreciated


End file.
